Killer Babies

A new chapter in my ongoing drama with the dogs: I worry for their lives. In all my fretting over dog problems before Tillie’s birth, and believe me I thought of MANY, I never thought that the dogs would be in any danger from the baby. But recently they have discovered how tasty bottles are, and they love to snatch them behind our backs and hide them for a good chew later on. Today, Zephyr walked into my office and barfed up a partially chewed nipple. Not only was this disgusting, but it foreshadowed something much worse. I do not want to have to surgically remove any plastic baby items from my dog’s intestine. We already had to do this two months ago, when the culprit was a produce bag and the victim was Zephyr. It involved major surgery. It cost us $2000. Now let’s see, what would I rather have spent that money on?

Mommy gives Tillie a stern talking to about her murderous bottles.

Daddy is hypnotized by her wily smile.

Innocently playing with Poppie, or conniving to take us down one by one?

Reading Is Fun

Tillie read her first book last night. Well, her wonderful babysitters and good friends Alex and Camile read it to her. I’m not quite sure how I haven’t managed to read to Tillie yet, but it is true. Thank goodness we have friends to pick up the slack in her education!

Molly Jr. vs. Scott Jr.

The big question when you combine your genes to make a baby is: who does she look like? When she first came out, Tillie looked just like baby pictures of me. See what I’m saying:
Baby Molly:

Baby Tillie:

Then, for the first two months, she seemed to be a clone of my mother, always giving me very thoughtful mother-like looks. This kind of weirded me out--not because I don’t want her to be like my mother (I would love that!)--but because it made me feel a little less like HER mother. It was confusing. Okay, maybe this is perhaps something I should discuss with a psychotherapist…but in the meantime, please compare:
Baby Ruth (yum!):

Baby Tillie:

Anyway, Scott keeps insisting that she looks like his side of the family, but I couldn’t see it. I knew she was getting away from looking like my mom and her sister and instead starting to have Scott’s mother’s coloring. But this week, I finally captured a moment where she looked EXACTLY like Scott. It was very exciting! Check it out:
Baby Scott:

Baby Tillie:

Of course, she just looks like herself really…and I love that!

Felt Good

Every Wednesday evening a magical event occurs: Craft Night. I [heart]love[heart] Craft Night! A group of my friends have been doing this for about a year now, and I cannot get enough of it. I usually quilt, but lately I’ve been informally touring other peoples crafts, taking a stab at them if you may. The most recent project I've completed was a set of felt alphabet blocks for Tillie. I loved the way they turned out.

Tillie likes them and she has great taste:

Chomp!

On display in Tillie’s room:

The backs:

The inspiration—a felt book with pull out characters, called Jungle Fun, by amazing crafter Corrie:

Clothes Colt

I finally went for-fun clothes shopping for Tillie (as opposed to oh-my-god-poop’s-blasting-out-of-her-too-tight-onsie-we-must-go-to-target clothes shopping). Sadly, I discovered that it is not only possible, but actually quite easy, to spend the same amount of money on an outfit for an infant as it is for yourself. (I saw an adorable sweater dress just her size for $58—ouch!) Instead of spending her college tuition on things she will burst out of in only three months, I hit the bargain rack. Wow, in babyland, they actually mark things down to $0.99. I even got some deals on off season prints, such as thanksgiving pumpkin tights, Easter lamb socks, an autumn-harvest tomato hat, and a summer-time giraffes onsie. Because her fashion seasons are so fleeting, I’ve decided that her outfits must be catalogued for my later enjoyment. This ensemble includes a little something hand-me-down (purple shift and matching bloomers) and a little something cowboy (trompe l'oeil boot booties). She's not yet able to walk down the baby runway I'm constructing, so here's a snapshot with her dapper pal Cat.

Two Tots

You don’t really know what’s baby about your baby (and what’s their personality) until you hold them up to another baby that is exactly their age. Comparing the two cousins (who are only 1 day apart in age) has helped me get to know just what makes Tillie Tillie. Disposition-wise, she is a bit more intense than her bubbly cousin. More powerful looks and fewer gurgly giggles. She eats sloppier—Writer is tidy and methodical in his bottle feeding, while Tillie slurps a lot and drools. Also, she holds her back a little more firmly when you sit her up. Writer is a lot floppier when you try to burp him. They are nearly the same weight, but Writer carries his chunk in his tummy, while Tillie stores hers in her marvelous thighs.

A pensive moment with Madame Tills

“Really Mother, how droll!”

Compare and save!

Side by side cousin antics

Aw, how sweet!

Happy New Ears

A few pictures of what has been going on Chez Tillie the last couple of weeks:

Aunt Violet and Uncle Honus introduce Tillie to the wonderful world of football.

Cousins Writer and Tillie meet for the first time.

First game of footsies

Tillie meets Santa. What did she ask him for?

Molly gets a pasta-maker attachment for Christmas.

Torturing the Wee One

When you’re a baby, people can do what they want with your helpless little body. They can pull your striped nerd pants up to your chest and dance you around like a pirate and say things like, “Yahr, clean the poop deck, matey!” and pretend that it is you saying that.

I love babies.

Capn’ Tillie

A first for everyone

Tills and Daddy napping

Glue Factory Supplier

“My name is Molly and I am a dog hater.”

Yes, it’s true—dogs really get my goat. I can’t stand them. I just hate the way that they get in my space, and they smell, and they destroy my things, and they make my house messy, and they jump at my face, and they scratch me, and they bark really loudly, and they leave hair everywhere, and they make it impossible for me to leave food unattended for even a moment while I go to the bathroom or get a beverage, and they sometimes bite my friends or my friends’ dogs, and they dig up my garden, and they hump on each other, and they make the yard unusable due to their crap, and they track crap in the house…. I really can’t stand all of these things. If a person did any of this to me, I would not be friends with them. Or, perhaps I would give money to the charitable cause that helped keep them away from me in some humane way.

It’s funny, because when we were kids, my brothers and sisters and I would always ask for a dog, and my dad would say no way and describe how much he hated dogs—and I used to get really annoyed with him for this. Here I am, 20 years later, and I myself am a self-proclaimed dog hater. But there is a key difference between me and my dad: I actually have two dogs. I live with them. I feed them. I take them to the vet to get their shots. I spend a lot of money on them. I let them lick my kid. Sometimes, I think they are cute. How did I get here?

Right before the baby was born, I really panicked about my feelings about the dogs. I just knew that I would no longer have tolerance for them. I thought that the baby would make me draw new, tighter boundaries on what I would be willing to do with my time, money, and energy. I thought, oh god, I am going to be that despicable person who neglects their dogs once the kids arrive. Or, I might say to Scott, “It’s me or the dogs.” Or, I might even secretly and evilly send them away to a farm or a rendering plant when he wasn’t looking. Well, the baby is here and I haven’t yet sent the mongrels to the glue factory.

Oddly, now that she is here, I have a new understanding about dog people. Before now, I never could figure out why their souls seemed so much more open than mine to that stinky, drooly kind of love. But, now I understand. They love their dogs in the EXACT same way that I love my baby. I finally get it. Tillie can puke on me, poop on my clothes, eat my food, and scream at my friends. And, I just giggle at how cute she is while she’s doing it. There are people, friends of mine even, who never want to be a parent and who say they hate kids. I finally get these people, too. I guess having all this cuteness (and baby filth) in my life is softening me up. Maybe I’ll even come to love dogs one day.

Or, maybe not.

[Image from: http://www.allposters.com/]

Belated Birthday Yummies

Scott bought me a Kitchen-Aid mixer as a belated birthday present. It’s pink! It’s lovely! Hypnotized by her rosy curves into a state of drunken domesticity, I whipped up a delicioso batch of mushroom and onion tartlets as well as some pear tartlets. Why so many small baked things? I dunno—perhaps it’s because miniature means fancy and I wouldn’t want my new mixer to think that I’m low-brow. (She’s so hoity-toity!)

Snuggles by Molly

There is nothing I love better than getting pictures of babies enjoying the quilts that I make. Now that I’m a mom myself, I am fully aware of how hard it is to set up a photo shoot that a) avoids puke fountains spilling onto said snuggly gift and b) gives the impression that the wee babe is enjoying his or herself. I just completed two robot quilts: one for my precious new nephew, Writer, and the other for Miss Tillie. Hurray—I finally get to keep one without feeling like a weirdo. Behold the cuteness!

Boobin’

Hooray--I've made progress! I lost over a pound since I began exercising. I'm not sure if my meticulous blog tabulations are doing anything for me though, so who knows how long I'll keep posting them. I wish there was a way to exercise my brain, too. My mind is really turning to mush. I spend a lot of time in front of the boob tube boobing my baby. And, the only things I seem to be writing about these days are babies and exercise. It's sadly a true representation of what is on my bimbo mind these days. All my fears of becoming a boring person once I had a kid are materializing. I've also got a messy house and stains on my clothing to really complete the picture.

Mileage to date:
5 miles running, 0.5 miles swimming
(28 pounds to go)

[Image from: http://www.msu.edu/course/isb/202/ebertmay/]

Mileage 3

Mileage to date:
3 miles running, 0 miles swimming
330 calories total
101,170 calories to go
(29 pounds to go)

And...because the above is boring and most of you are really here for the pictures of Tillie:

Mileage 2

Mileage to date:
2 miles running, 0 miles swimming
220 calories total
101,280 calories to go
(29 pounds to go)

Snack and Story

When we were kids, every night our parents provided us with "snack and story." Just before bedtime, Mom or Dad would read a chapter from a book, such as A Wrinkle in Time, or The Prince and the Pauper, or Little Women. We would get a beverage of our choice and one serving of a food item of our choice. Beverages were usually orange juice, apple juice, or chocolate milk. Food items were usually a chunk of cheese, a slice of bologna, a pickle, or maybe cinnamon toast. I am so excited about continuing this tradition with Tillie, though I might vary it a bit by providing different victual options. But then, maybe Tillie will take after her momma and delight in the refined combination of pickle and chocolate milk.

Bottle Scars

Pregnancy ages you faster than real life. There’s the fat. There’s the scarring from the exit wound. There’s the psychological feeling like you’ll never be free to do whatever you want ever again. But the worse part for me has been the skin stretching. I know that skin is the most flexible and healable part of your body, but I can still tell that mine will never be the same again. It’s horrible. My stretch marks look like bright magenta tiger stripes along my waistline, down my thighs, and radiating out like melon markings on my breasts. They shimmer in the sunlight. Everyone says they will fade, but I know that the texture is permanent.

Getting back in shape is triply difficult because of this. Yes, vanity plays a role in the trauma. Go ahead and hate me for being a weak-minded narcissist. But, who wants to put on a swim suit and go out in public when she has 19 extra pounds around her middle with colorful stretch-mark racing stripes advertising the new real estate? As someone who has always been thin (and clueless), I have the added hurdle of suddenly having to figure out how to get over what everyone else has been complaining about for years. No one every told me that jiggling fat actually hurts.

And, then there’s the bra issue. Before pregnancy I was a tidy-and-lovely B cup. During pregnancy a voluptuous-yet-manageable C cup. Now that I’m nursing, I’m a gimongous-and-ridonculous D cup. I clearly need to get some professional help in the underwear department, because this morning I went for my first jog this year and had to actually support my boobs with my own hands the whole way. Ow.

Is it all worth it? You decide:

Mileage 1

Some weight loss math:

3500 calories = 1 pound weight loss
1 mile of running = 110 calories
1 mile of swimming (40 laps) = 495 calories
29 pounds = 101,500 calories total to burn

That's 923 miles of running OR 205 miles of swimming that I need to do to reach my goal.

Mileage to date:
1 mile running, 0 miles swimming
110 calories total
101,390 calories to go
(29 pounds to go)

Petite Mani-Pedi

One aspect of parenthood that has surprised me is the physical intimacy that I have with this new person. I know all her little parts. I clean them, I cuddle them, I spluhbert them, I monitory their growth, and I make sure they are all in good working order. And when no one is looking, I might even take a little bite of them—the feet especially are very tasty. All her body parts are still kind of mine in a way. I wonder when they will be liberated from my possession. When will her body become her own? I wonder about this. And then I realize that my own parents had this special secret knowledge of my baby body over thirty years ago. Did they feel the same sort of bossiness over my feet, my bum, my crusty little hands, my cheesy neck rolls? Was it hard to start giving Young Molly her own way with their care and maintenance? Someday I will have insight into that change. Until then, I will enjoy giving little pedicures to little feet to the sound of little snores.

Anticimpatience

At 5 weeks, Tillie is now filling out her onsies, beginning to bust out of her newborn diapers, and has finally started showing a little excitement about her surroundings. Dadnabbit, she is growing! Man it happens fast. But, then it’s also not happening fast enough. I find myself obsessing about what she will be like when she is 1, when she is 5, when she is 15, when she is 40. Will I always be this preoccupied with her future? Her eyes are changing color, but we still can’t tell what color they will be. Her eyebrows are red and her hair reddish brown, but that all could fall out and any shade of hair color could replace it. And then there are all the questions about her little unformed personality. What will be her passions? Her pursuits? Her preferences? A mother wants to know! If I am not careful, I will forget to enjoy the present while fixating on the future. I wonder what her future therapist will have to say about all this. And, how old is her future therapist right now—is he/she even out of the 3rd grade yet?

One Monthaversary

Two to the fifth power is 32, and today I turned 32 years old. However, contemplating that numerological factoid is about as much excitement as I can drum up for myself these days. Relative to Tillie’s one month anniversary of being born (yesterday, hooray!), my 32nd birthday is just plain boring.

Having a baby makes me feel a little older, but having a back injury makes me feel decrepit. Today, for some reason I’ve been unable to move more than 3 degrees in any direction because of a shooting pain in my back. Since I can’t hold Tillie, I had to spend the day just looking at her. Of course, this pastime amuses me greatly. What can I say? I am her mother. Behold, the many faces of Tillie: